I mentioned awhile back that I was considering attending an Introduction to Swedish Massage class in order to test the waters a bit.
Over the last few years, with the realization that Youngest only needs me to teach him for another five or so, I have had, in the back of my mind, the question, "And what shall I do with the rest of my life?" After Mister's car accident and the resultant change in his physical abilities, the flame on the back burner got turned up to medium high.
Volleying back and forth the pros and cons of physical therapy assistant versus massage therapist, I found myself leaning towards massage. An intro class seemed like a good way to dip my toes in before signing over $10K and a year of my life to school.
The class was scheduled for early June. Kristin called the school and had us put on the list. We opted not to prepay, however. Country Mouse felt the need to leave an escape hatch open, just in case . . .
Resistant to change and intimidated at the thought of leaving her comfort zone, Country Mouse waged an insidious campaign in an attempt to manipulate Peach and Kristin into postponing the class. "There will be other classes," she persuaded. "There's more time to think about this," she slyly encouraged.
The balance was starting to tip. Peach and Kristin were buying into Country Mouse's proposal, but Beautiful's friends stepped in. H and her sister T heard about the class and wanted to come too. Country Mouse knew she had lost the battle. We would not let H and T down. We would put on a brave face and go to the class.
June 2nd dawned sunny and promising and the whole cast timorously climbed into H's car. Off to school we went.
First thing through the door, a sign informed us that we had to take off our shoes. I spend most of my time in my house and garden without shoes, but barefoot at someone else's house is way beyond what I can comfortably handle. A determined Peach removed the shoes, ignoring Country Mouse's irritating refrain, "don't say I didn't warn you!"
One hurdle clumsily jumped, the next Herculean task quickly followed. It introduced itself as John, the instructor. Outgoing, laid back, welcoming John greeted each student by saying hello while placing a friendly hand on one shoulder. Country Mouse nearly jumped out of her skin and was tempted to run back to the car. It was all Peach could do to force a smile and an unconvincing "hi."
Shaniqua LaShaundra LaBelle had had enough. "Are you kidding me?!" she rallied the troops. "We're at a school of massage people! Of course they're going to touch you! What did you expect?" Country Mouse lamely explained that she knew she would touch someone else, but didn't realize other people would be touching her. The Mama, well versed in deflecting childish excuses, hurled a stony glare in Mouse's direction and bravely climbed the stairs to the classroom.
And then the nakedness ensued. Oh god, it was a long day . . .